Creep
by thehannibalwolf
Summary: (AU NO WEREWOLVES). Stiles was obsessed with serial killers. That was how he ended up becoming the obsession of Beacon Hills' newest dangerous murderer. His sanity is tested and he is forced to discover his very limits as the obsession is brought to dangerous proportions.


**Hey guys, this is my first fanfiction and I'm really excited about it. Hope you guys enjoy it. I don't own anything or anyone from Teen Wolf.**

Most kids spent their time watching Netflix, uploading pictures to Instagram, hanging out with their friends and partying. Sixteen year old Stiles Stilinski was not one of those kids. To be fair he had never been part of the normal crowd, he was seen as nerdy and spastic and that did not a popular kid make. Arguably his only friend was Scott McCall, the only person that he'd known for practically his entire life. Scott didn't share Stiles' obsessions or get into as much trouble as he did but he put up with Stiles anyway. Stiles' fascination wasn't the latest celebrity couples or the coolest TV shows, no he was obsessed with murderers.

That afternoon he was on his way to the sheriff's station, hands firmly on the steering wheel of his old banged up Jeep. His father was the sheriff so Stiles was used to practically living at the station when he wasn't in school. On weekdays he'd pop over with some food and then he'd pester his dad into talking to him about case files. He wasn't sure what it was that drew him to the gory and macabre, but the psychology and disturbing stories of serial killers and mass murderers were too tempting for him not to investigate. As he drove the radio was playing full blast, he could sing along to his favorite song.

 _I'm a creep._

 _I'm a weirdo._

 _What the hell am I doing here?_

 _I don't belong here._

His singing was off-key and terrible, but nobody was listening. He was so distracted that he almost didn't notice the broken down sedan stopped on the side of the road. When he finally noticed the man waving him down he had to slam on his brakes so he didn't speed right past. Quickly he pulled over and hopped out to address the stranger in trouble. The man was definitely an adult, about his father's age, with clean cut brown hair and an arrogant nature about him. Stiles wouldn't deny he was a bit attractive, tight V-neck shirt and sweat pouring down his neck from standing out in the heat. But he shook the thought out of his head and compelled himself to speak.

"Hey man, are you alright?"

"Well as you can see my car decided to be a bitch today," the man explained. "I've been standing here for an hour and a half trying to get somebody to stop. Thanks for that."

"No problem. My Jeep is a piece of crap, it breaks down every other week."

"Are you even old enough to drive?" asked the man with a smirk. With just as much sarcasm, Stiles pulled out license and displayed it.

"I'm sixteen. Do you want my help or not?"

"Go ahead." Stiles unlocked his trunk and grabbed the jumper cables, attaching one end to his engine and the other to the sedan's engine.

"Alright, I'm going to try to jumpstart your car. See if that works." The man watched Stiles slide back into his Jeep and turn the ignition, sparking the jumper cables. He attempted to start his own car and found that the engine finally hummed to life.

"It works," he declared to Stiles with a sigh of relief. "Thanks kid. I never caught your name."

"Stiles. How about you?"

"Peter, Peter Hale." Peter shook Stiles' hand, smiling gratefully. "You really saved my ass, I guess I owe you one." He went over to his trunk and popped it open as he continued talking.

"Don't worry about it," dismissed Stiles. "I was just on my way to see my dad anyway, he's the sheriff."

"Well that must get really interesting." Stiles couldn't help but grin and nod.

"Yeah I guess I like learning about stuff like that. Really complex people. Most people think I'm weird."

"You don't seem weird to me," responded Peter. "You seem like a good kid." He suddenly closed his trunk and it made Stiles jump; the older man approaching to hand a business card over. "Here, take my card. If you ever need anything, let me know. Thanks again."

"My pleasure. It was nice to meet you Peter." Peter got into his sedan and waved one more time before he pulled away. Realizing he was already running late, Stiles hurried to pack everything away and got on his way to the station.

Sheriff John Stilinski was already buried in files when his son strolled into his office with a bag of fast food. It was getting into the early evening hours and his stomach was growling at him, so he wasn't sure if he was happier to see Stiles or his dinner. Stiles took a seat on the opposite side of the desk as John rubbed at his eyes with exhaustion.

"Hey Dad," the teen greeted, getting a tired wave in return.

"You're later than usual."

"I had to help someone with car troubles. Do you know Peter Hale?" John looked up, a bit surprised.

"Yeah, the Hale family has been in town for generations. Peter's a rich type, doesn't talk to people much. He owns the pharmaceutical company downtown."

"He's rich?" questioned Stiles. "Why was he driving a crappy sedan?"

"Not everybody who has money likes to spend it Stiles."

"Yeah right. If I was rich I'd be driving a Ferrari with flames coming out of the sides." John rolled his eyes and beckoned with one hand for the food Stiles had brought. He was more than a little skeptical when he was handed a container of salad.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"The doctor said you have to watch your heart," Stiles said with a scolding tone, though his point was a bit undermined when he took the first bite into his own giant hamburger.

"I thought you loved me." Now it was Stiles' turn to roll his eyes.

"I do, which is why I still got you some fries." This was the unspoken deal between father and son. Stiles tried to look out for his dad's health and keep him from drinking too much, while John made sure the teen went to school and sheltered him from some of the many troubles he found himself in.

"Well aren't you a sweetheart."

"So tell me what we've got, what's Mr. Hacksaw done now?" The newest threat to Beacon Hills was a brutal serial killer known as The Six Pieces Killer. Twelve people had been found hacked into pieces around town, each murder clearly done with the work of a hacksaw. So far they had found no connection between any of the victims, all different ages and genders with different jobs. It was like there was no connection to be found.

"The latest victim, Cynthia Evans," John replied somberly. "Found this morning with her body parts spread out across the park. Took them three hours to find all of her. She was twenty-three, college student at Beacon Hills University. But only four of the victims were in college. Five of them weren't students at all."

"Maybe we're supposed to be looking at a location instead of a demographic," suggested Stiles. "Didn't all their cars go missing too? Whoever this guy is, maybe they were in their cars. What about a hitchhiker?"

"A bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

"Well it's worth a shot," the teen insisted. "Picture a non-suspicious guy dressed in tattered clothing, some Good Samaritan picks them up. Easy enough to knock them out once the car is stopped and no one is going to be paying attention. It's somewhere to start."

"I'll put the call out. Let's look at these profiles again, maybe we can find a suspect if we look at who he's killing." Stiles smiled, his favorite part looking over case files like he was a professional detective. The two spent the next couple of hours getting organized, discussing the facts that they already knew while trying to avoid getting their food all over the important documents.

At ten to midnight John went to get himself a long coffee, a typical routine for the late nights he had to spend at work. But when he got back with a steaming mug in his hand, he found Stiles face down on the desk. The teen was clearly deep in sleep with soft snores coming out of his mouth, lines of exhaustion forming under his eyes. A loving smile came on John's face as he watched his boy slumber. He knew Stiles would never admit it, but he hung around the station so much to avoid being home alone. Most parents didn't consider talk about serial killers proper quality time but somehow it worked for the two of them. And John adored his strange and sweet boy. Quietly he walked over to the corner where he kept a blanket for just such occasions, draping it over Stiles gently.

"Get some rest, kiddo," he whispered, planting a soft kiss on Stiles' head.

It was late at night when Peter pulled his car back into his driveway. His house was very isolated, a large manor located just outside of town where buildings turned into farms and dirt. There was a security gate where he needed to enter a passcode, thus ensuring that it was difficult for unwanted visitors to stop by. He'd grown to appreciate the peacefulness of his solitude.

As he entered his manor, a duffel bag hung from his right hand. He always had it with him, when he went to work, when he went out of town, when he killed Cynthia Evans. Having his tools on hand just made everything easier. Chloroform and some tranquilizers, duct tape, a hacksaw, and some matches so he could burn all the contaminated evidence when he was done.

The plan was always supposed to be the same. He pulled over to the side of the road and feigned car troubles until he flagged down some unsuspecting do gooder. When no one was looking he was supposed to subdue his victim and put them in the backseat of his car. But for some reason he hadn't taken Stiles. He'd been grabbing his tools, the boy's back had been turned to him, perfect for taking, but at the last second he changed his mind. Something made Stiles different. It would be a shame to kill him.

He had to find a way to get Stiles, be alone with him and show him his true self. The sheriff's son, that lent itself to some interesting possibilities. Of course the police were miles away from having any real leads but that didn't mean he couldn't throw them a bone if it meant luring them to exactly where he wanted them. So many possibilities. Stiles would be his soon enough. Peter Hale, was a psychopath, a serial killer, and for the first time in a while he went to bed happy.

 **So this story is going to have a lot of creepy moments, hence the title. I hope to update regularly but I'm still new at this. Let me know if you liked it!**


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